They were in utter darkness once more. "Bah!" cried Roby. "How careless!" "Burned down to my fingers," said Dickenson coolly out of the black darkness. "Do you know, I don't believe a bullet going into you hurts a bit more than being burned like that." "For goodness' sake strike another match, Mr Dickenson," cried the captain angrily. "Fumbling for it now, sir. Doesn't seem as if there are any more. Yes, here's one little joker hiding in a corner. Got him!" _Scr-r-r-itch_! went the little match, and flashed into a bright flame which formed an arch in the air and disappeared down the yawning pit. "Why, you left go!" cried Captain Roby. "No wonder if I did, after burning my fingers so," grumbled Dickenson; "but I didn't, for I've got the wax here. Top jumped off." Then there was a tinkling sound as he shook the little silver box he held. "Hurrah!" he cried. "Here's one more. Ready with that lantern, my lad?" "Yes, sir." "Take the lamp out and let me try if I can get the wick up with the pricker before I strike the match." The men's breathing could be heard as they stood, with every nerve on the strain, listening to the scraping, scratching sound made in the excitement and dread caused by the horrible darkness; for there was not a man present, from officer to the youngest private, who had much faith that they would find the way back to the mouth of the cavern. "For goodness' sake mind you don't drop the match, Mr Dickenson," said the captain suddenly. "Trust me, sir," said Dickenson coolly.--"Ah, would you slip back into the paraffin. Come out," he continued, apostrophising the wick he was pricking at. "Phew! How nasty it makes one's fingers smell! Bravo! Got him at last." "Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the captain impatiently. "Wait till I've opened the wick a little more. That's it! Here, what am I to wipe my fingers on?" "Oh, never mind your fingers, man," cried Captain Roby. "But they're quite slippery, sir." "Rub 'em on my sleeve, sir," growled Sergeant James. "Thankye, sergeant, but I've just polished them on my own." _Click! click_! went the lamp as it was thrust back into the lantern, and there was once more the sound of men drawing their breath hard--a sound that was checked suddenly as the last match was heard to tinkle in the silver box. "Got him!" said Dickenson audibly as he talked to himself. "Now then, ready with the lantern?" he said aloud. "Yes, sir." "Give me elbow-room, all of you." There was the sound of men shrinking back. "Now then," said Dickenson, "here goes! I hope the head won't come off this time." _Fuzz_! and directly after _fuzz_! but no light followed the rubbing of the match. "Why, it has got no head," cried the striker in dismay, and at this announcement the men uttered a groan. "All right," cried Dickenson cheerily. "I was rubbing its tail instead of the head."